


Lost Love (Is Sweeter When It's Finally Found)

by Imaginary_Bomb



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, What-if Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Bomb/pseuds/Imaginary_Bomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi and Shion have found one another again, but the love they fought so hard to preserve is gone. Faced with having to make the choice, will they choose to try to find it again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Love (Is Sweeter When It's Finally Found)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt 'If you had to choose between Nezumi and Shion reuniting, but them not being in love, or them never reuniting but being in love forever which would you choose and why?' given to tumblr user nezuomi who picked the latter choice, but it was too sad so I had to fix it. (Also, Safu is alive, because if I'm fixing one sad thing, I might as well fix them all.)
> 
> Originally posted in an unpolished format on my tumblr [here](http://fanoftheages.tumblr.com/post/121716924046/if-you-had-to-choose-between-nezumi-and-shion).  
> Fanmix I made to accompany this fic can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/imaginarybomb/love-lost).

Nezumi returns after a few years. Give or take. After a certain point, Shion stopped counting the days. Reunion would come, or it wouldn’t; either way, Shion couldn’t do anything about it. He turned his attentions to other priorities, time passed, and eventually, Nezumi was back again.

“I told you I never break a promise,” are his first words.

Shion is half-inclined to slap him, but chooses to kiss him instead. It’s been a long time, Shion has nearly forgotten what kissing Nezumi is like. He feels none of that reckless white-hot passion, but it is _good_ to see Nezumi again, even with his infuriating smirk.

And so life goes on.

They move in together, of course. Karan nearly shoves him out the door, in fact, the moment she learns of Nezumi’s return. She helps him pack and passes sly comments of “young lovers reunited” and “needing privacy.” There’s nothing much else to be done about it. After all, isn’t this what they’ve been waiting all this time _for_?

Living together in close quarters isn’t nearly as maddening as either of them remember but… it has been some time. They’ve both grown, matured. Safu’s first words when she comes to greet them with a house-warming gift are, “It’s about time.” So that’s that.

Still, as time passes, they can’t help but feel like everything they thought they wanted together just isn’t _fitting_ quite the way they imagined. Shion works in his mother’s bakery; Nezumi gets odd jobs here and there, never able to settle. Safu’s university is nearby, and Inukashi comes around when it pleases them. There’s camaraderie found, an easy routine.

But the love is gone. The love that was raised to life in the midst of desperate circumstances, whipped into heated passion by sacrifice and fear and frantic hope, has cooled. Wilted under the dredge of normality, with its obligations and chores and tedium.

Shion still doesn’t count the days, doesn’t know how time passes, but it does. The life they’ve found themselves in together begins to feel like a charade; they begin wonder why they’re keeping on with this.

They don’t say anything, though, not to each other. They rarely speak intimately anymore, just superficial small talk. At first, that was enough. Everything big and important had happened, they had found each other again; without the looming risk of any conversation being their last, they lost the practice of reaching deep inside for words that _meant_ something.

But they wonder to themselves. Karan is planning to retire soon to the countryside, and Shion knows his presence would be hardly unwanted. Every other moment, Nezumi is tempted to just leave again, leave with no promise of return. There is nothing left to keep them together, why pretend otherwise?

One day, when it almost— _almost_ —is too late, Nezumi comes home and finds Shion in the spare closet feeding a stray rat that he’s apparently named Sondheim and—it isn’t like punch, like all the breath leaving him at once. But he’s still left feeling stunned. He retreats before Shion can notice him.

The old love hasn’t blossomed forth, but Nezumi feels dizzy with nostalgia, with the memory of how  _fiercely_ he once loved this boy—young man, now—how _viciously_ he fought for him. The memory aches in him, leaves him weeping, alone, in the shower that night. The love hasn’t returned, but he feels a flicker in his chest, and he tries to remember what that frantic hope had felt like. When he does, he clings to it and uses it to strengthen his resolve.

He left, once, what seems like a lifetime ago. To be “true” to himself, because he had been afraid of how strongly he loved Shion, how the heat of his desire had burned inside him. And he had left, with a promise and a reckless half-thought that somehow time could surely never steal away the strength of what he felt.

It hadn’t been a loss then, but it was turning into one. Nezumi remembers all those times he had feared he’d lost Shion, how much it had tortured him.

That fear is back, now. The love isn’t, still, but it’s not too late—or so Nezumi prays, even though he’s never been one to, but he does now—he can still save this.

Shion comes home from work the next day, and there’s a song playing on their little portable radio, and it sounds vaguely familiar. He can’t quite place it, but Nezumi is there, standing in the kitchen, holding it, with a smile that’s more smirk than anything. And Shion realizes it’s been a long time since he’s seen Nezumi smile at him like that.

Nezumi takes him to the edge of the city. He doesn’t say anything, and Shion doesn’t ask him. Nezumi is leading him with purpose, the eerily familiar melodies still spilling from the radio in his other hand. He tries to remember the last time he and Nezumi walked hand-in-hand like this. It was just last week, he recalls, but… he doesn’t think it felt like this. Nezumi’s grip is firm and searing, and Shion can’t bring himself to disturb their trek with gawky words.

They come to a park. Nezumi sets the radio down and pulls Shion into his arms. Shion is startled to find that he can look Nezumi in the eye now without having to tilt his head. He wants to make a joke about it, but Nezumi is leading him again, in circles, with his hand low on Shion’s back. His feet fall into place through a fog of memory as he settles his arm around Nezumi’s shoulder.

As their dance ends, something is unfurling in Shion’s gut. Not love, he doesn’t think, but the memory of it, and a deep aching loss. Nezumi’s hands are on him, still, and it’s so hot, even though he can see the breeze lifting through Nezumi’s hair. And his eyes—Shion wonders how he could have forgotten just how beautiful they were.

They’re standing so close already, Shion doesn’t realize Nezumi is leaning in until he’s kissing him. They do kiss, of course, frequently: when they leave for work, when they arrive home, when they meet for lunch. They kiss often, and this kiss is nothing spectacular, but it’s warm and makes something flutter in Shion’s chest.

When Nezumi leans away, something burns in Shion, and at first he suspects it’s anger. But as he speaks—“Is that another promise?”—he realizes that it’s resignation. He thinks, as soon as he’s home, he’s calling his mother and letting her know that he will be going with her to the country.

Nezumi smirks that smile at him again. But there’s something else there, Shion can see it now, something sharp. Shion is seized with the urge to make his mouth bleed on that smile, but he pulls back, because Nezumi’s mouth is opening, he’s speaking—

“Yes,” Nezumi says. “But it’s a different kind of promise.”

Shion is left breathless, like he’s walking across that bridge again, anxiety twisting knots in his stomach, and he doesn’t know if he wants to hear what comes next. But he realizes that he has to—he _needs_ to. So much has been unspoken between them since Nezumi returned, leaving a gaping maw of silence, and Shion needs it filled before he can go on.

“Last time, I promised only to return. Everything else, I assumed, was a given.” Nezumi’s words are stilted, like this is a speech he’s been practicing. “I was afraid then, and I’m afraid now, and it’s still because of you, but it’s different.”

His voice is dry, cracking, and Shion remembers that Nezumi used to sound so smooth, so suave. Shion had always been suspicious of that, but now he doesn’t know what to do with the rawness in Nezumi’s voice, doesn’t know what to do now that their positions are reversed.

“You needed me then, and I was afraid of that. I was afraid that… that I needed you, too. I left because I couldn’t face it. And I came back when I thought I was ready, but really, the fear was still there, I had just waited until I didn’t feel it so much anymore.

“But now I’m afraid again, and this time—this time I’m not going to run, I’m not going to make excuses. Back then, I was scared of what we could  _have_. Now, I’m scared of what we could  _lose_.”

“Then what—” Shion forces the words, doesn’t let himself look away from Nezumi’s eyes. “What are you promising?”

Nezumi looks at him, right back. Sometimes, in the past, Shion felt like Nezumi looked _through_ him, more than at him. But Nezumi’s gaze is solid now, Shion can feel the weight of it in his bones.

“I’m promising that I’m going to love you again. Not in five minutes, or tomorrow, or five days, or maybe even a month—but one day, I will.”

Shion is ready to ask how the hell is  _distance_ going to help with that, when Nezumi says, “And I want you to be there for it.”

He steps back, extends his hand, and says, “I can’t bear the thought of a future where I don’t love you. So please, stay with me. Come with me. Let me learn how to love you again.”

Shion learned not to cry so easily over the years, and he doesn’t cry now. But he feels like something is bursting inside him. It’s not love, not yet, but he remembers this—the frantic hope that pushed them through before, the first time around.

He reaches out and takes Nezumi’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm my own beta, so if you have any constrictive criticism, by all means, please share. If you liked the fic, let me know by leaving kudos and/or a comment. The title is from a line in the song 'Past Lives' by BORNS.


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